Crying and Killing
September 7, 2012
Another girl. She is tall and tight and heavy on top of me, her skin is tawny and her nipples are a perfect dark, dusty pink. She has this voice, like her voice has its own backbone, it’s womanly, but authoritative, honey, but bottled. In glass. Her throat is the perfect desk for all the sounds she makes. I’m attracted to her and like her very much. She has a grasp on how to love without without squeezing (not that she loves me) and she likes to talk about schizophrenia and birth, she has a certain weight and a certain bounce.
That being said, my heart doesnt swell when her hand’s on my chest and my children dont look like her. Listening to her talk last night about what she wants and what she doesnt, about how she is so open and capable of being filled by so much and so many, but about how the people she loves need her to opt for a kind of half fullness, I felt some relief. (I have been worried that I am going to have to come to the conclusions in knew 20 years ago, that I am solo, alone, that I will have one baby and many lovers.) She is heart – broken and in between things right now, having come back from somewhere and being on her way to the next place. In her I see a soft, wet comrade.
Last night, I told her one of the things I think about her. After feeling her press her pubic bone through two pairs of pants and two pairs of underwear and into my clit and after letting her pull my hair and bite my neck, a new understanding came to me of a new kind of dysmorphia, of the seminal vesicle and vas deferens kind, a physiological dysmorphia – to have and like your topography, but want to cry or kill for what’s not underneath. She said she liked that description. That explanation.
She doesnt understand BDSM. I told her I like to hurt people and then take care of them and she said, jokingly, that I shouldnt be a parent, that she was going to take away my mother card. I told her I was going to take away her queer card. I said we will meet cardless, in January and consumate our acquaintance. By January maybe her heart wont broken and mine wont be in the process of crying or killing everytime I wake up.
Brief But Plain Chat Demonstrating My Continued Superiority Over Everything Or, I Am the Second Speaker
June 9, 2012
(11:24:38am):We should, perhaps, talk.
(11:25:35am)ms_me:what about?
(11:25:51am):Rope.
(11:25:57am)ms_me:mkay.
(11:26:19am):Hemp, nylon or cotton?
(11:26:31am)ms_me:well, first convince me that youre a girl.
(11:26:45am):Wow. Want to see the blood coming out of my uterus?
(11:26:55am)ms_me:not convinced.
Protected: When I See Her, She Raises Me
January 11, 2012
Meeting Girls
January 8, 2012
I’ve met a girl.
It’s funny. You meet a girl and you think, “Have I really met a girl?” And you say to yourself, “A tryst in a parking garage and a coffee date does not met a girl make.” And you say to yourself, “People go out on dates every day and hook up every day and they have not met a girl.” But then you bring it back. To yourself. Or rather, I do. And I say to myself, “Self, ya met a girl. You’ve exchanged a dozen emails, talked about your families and exes in measured, generous terms. Flowers have been given and plans for Valentine’s Day made. You laid her on your bare chest in a parked car until 3 in the morning. And even slept some. You, my friend. Have met. A girl.”
I did.
Protected: Maybe I Should Let You Read What I Write
December 26, 2011
Protected: I’ve Never Had Rules or Punishment Most of My Life
October 1, 2011
Protected: Pride, Birth
September 27, 2011
Protected: Type It Back to Me
September 2, 2011
Certain
September 1, 2011
(at saint mary’s)
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back
may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that
